


a rush of blood is not enough

by quinnking



Series: serpent riverparents [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fade to black sex, sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnking/pseuds/quinnking
Summary: "Hop on, Jones."He does, pressing himself close to her and letting his stubbled chin rasp against the skin of her shoulder and neck.“Stop that," she hisses, shrugging him off and he just chuckles. "Hold on tight, honey."





	a rush of blood is not enough

**Author's Note:**

> i just. needed to. :D 
> 
> follow me on tumblr (quinnking) or twitter (quinnkings). :)

_now i'm deep in it, infatuated; strong attraction, side by side, and i know that you want to_

* * *

"Pick up, pick up, pick up..." F.P. mutters, gripping the phone tightly in one hand. 

"Yeah," says the gruff voice on the other line.

F.P. lets out a breath. Good, her dad didn't answer.

"Ali Cat," he says, softly.

"What do you want, Forsythe? At this time of morning. I was sleeping." 

He feels guilty, only for a second. But you know, this is important.

"I... need you to come pick me up."

He hears things rustling on the other end and then a huff. "Where are you?" 

"I also need you clean up my face," he supplies for her by means of an answer.

"Forsythe," she says haughtily. "Maybe I should just leave you there." 

"Ali," he whines. "I'll owe you one."

She chuckles on the other end and the hairs on his neck go up. 

"Deal. I'll be there soon." 

She doesn't make him wait as long as he thought she would, if he's being honest. He sees her leaning against her bike, her helmet hanging on the handles, his too. Her hair is long and curly past her breasts. Her thumbs hooked into her belt loops and one leg crossed over the other. She looks like heaven. 

"So, tell me," she drawls, taking a drag of her cigarette. "Is it true what they say?" 

He tilts his head. "'Bout what?"

"About men who were in prison."

He sees her smirk around her cigarette after taking the last drag and squashing it out. 

"What about them?"

The tilt in the corners of her mouth are more prominent now, an actual smile. An evil one, but still a smile nonetheless. 

"That they're incredibly sexually frustrated." 

He just stares at her, mouth open a little bit in surprise. And, yeah. He is sexually frustrated. But because he's a teenage boy, not because he spent a night in jail. He walks up to her, long and sure strides, and he traps her in between his body and her bike. 

"You tell me, Ali Cat," he says, pressing himself against her. 

The smirk on her mouth remains. "Feels like you are," she murmurs, shifting, so his thigh ends up between hers. "You should probably do something about that, don't you think?" Their mouths are so close, and they're in public, visible to anyone who could walk by. 

That douses him with a bit of cold water.

He leans around her, grabs his helmet and puts some space between them. She gives him that head tilt, like she can see right into his mind and knows exactly what he's thinking at this very moment. But instead of saying anything, she just gives a one shouldered shrug and grabs her own helmet before mounting her bike.

"Hop on, Jones."

He does, pressing himself close to her and letting his stubbled chin rasp against the skin of her shoulder and neck. 

"Stop that," she hisses, shrugging him off and he just chuckles. "Hold on tight, honey." 

* * *

They pitstop at Pop's first, holding the bag between their bodies on their way back to F.P.'s trailer. 

"Come in," he tells her once he gets off of her bike. 

Her eyebrows pinch together and she looks at him dubiously. "Forsythe," she starts. 

He cuts her off, saying, "come on, darlin'. Let's go eat this inside." 

She rolls her eyes at him but obliges, dismounting tucking her helmet under her arms. "Fine, but you're not hogging all the fries," she mutters and breezes past him. Literally goes into the hiding space where they keep the key and unlocks the door herself.

He almost laughs out loud. 

They eat mostly in silence, but their legs are touching and the air is thick with something he can't explain with words. He wonders if she knows that her fingernails are tracing the patterns on his jeans. 

"Thank you," he says after a moment. 

She eats the last fry and gives him a shrug, looking at him from under her lashes. "Don't mention it." 

"Alice -"

"F.P.," she interjects. He stops talking, lets her continue, but she says nothing else. Instead, she ends up in his lap, legs on either side of his hips. F.P. opens his mouth to say something, but she presses her fingers to her lips. "Don't."

He nods, and she kisses him. Her fingers start to unbutton his flannel, fingers and nails scraping and touching all along his chest and stomach, as if she can't touch him soon enough. And he thinks that's hardly fair, because he's been imagining her like this for years. He shucks up her crop top, tossing it behind her and his hands flit from her hipbones to her ribs, moving up.

"Yeah," she answers his unasked question, when his fingers tease the hook on her bra. He wastes no time then, fumbling with the garment until it's off and she's bare before him. 

She's just as beautiful as he imagined, but she doesn't let him look as long as he wants, fisting her hand in his hair and kissing him with renewed fervor. 

"Hope you have condoms," she says after a moment, leaning down to work on the buckle of his jeans.

He chuckles, trying to ignore how his heart flutters because him and Alice - Alice fucking Smith, his unobtainable Ali Cat - are finally doing this. _Finally._

"'Course I do, darlin'." 


End file.
